


Ghosts

by Dolimir



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolimir/pseuds/Dolimir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his work computer is infected by a super virus, there is only one person who can help Jim Ellison. a young, mysterious computer recluse, by the name of Blair Sandburg.  (Originally published in 2002)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts

Simon Banks was not a happy man, and was growing more unhappy as each minute passed. One hour previous, he happened to look across the bullpen just in time to see the computer technician's face drain of all color. While he knew his best detective, James Ellison, was hard on computers, he thought the reaction was a little drastic. However, a phone call from the Chief of Police kept him distracted until there was a knock on his door.

"Come," he shouted, without looking up from the papers on his desk.

Jim Ellison poked his head through the doorway. "Sir, the techs working on my computer would like to speak with us in private."

"Techs? Plural? As in more than one?"

"Yes, sir."

"I only authorized one," Simon muttered, seeing his technical budget numbers for the month sink quickly into the crapper. When Jim merely shrugged, he sighed heavily. "Send them in."

Jim left and returned a moment later with two young men, whose outward appearances merely reinforced all learned caricatures of computer geeks.

The two gangly techs nodded their thanks to Ellison as he pointed to the two chairs in front of Simon's desk. They looked around the office nervously and sat, putting their hands in their laps as if trying to calm themselves.

"Gentlemen," Simon said simply, when neither man made any attempt to speak.

The taller, unauthorized, techno geek pushed his glasses up his nose and swallowed hard. "We're not really sure where to begin, so please excuse us while we fumble around looking for the best way to broach the subject."

Simon nodded tolerantly.

"Has Detective Ellison or anyone else had any recent...governmental problems?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Any recent dealings with the CIA, FBI or NSA?"

Simon started to sputter but stopped when Jim raised a hand, forestalling any further comment. "Yes," the detective said quietly, leaning back against the window.

Both techs turned to face him, although it was the taller one who spoke. "Sir, there's no easy way to tell you this, but there is evidence that your computer has been infected with a ghost."

"Would you care to explain that statement?" Simon asked, trying not to grit his teeth in frustration.

"It's a gathering bug," the smaller man offered, although it quickly became apparent that neither officer understood his lingo.

"Tobias, let me," the taller man said gently, patting his nervous companion's shoulder. "While most people would call ghosts computer viruses, they're actually a step above, not quite artificial intelligence, but getting pretty darn close. I won't bore you all with the details at this point, other than to say you're lucky Tobias noticed the incongruities. Most techs would have thought it was an unexplained hiccup in the system and ignored it."

"Mr..." Simon started.

"Harris. Dave Harris, sir. Please, I beg you to be patient just a little while longer," the taller man said quickly. At Simon's nod, he continued, "Ghosts are basically hunter/gatherers. Very sci-fi. In fact, most computer experts don't even suspect the technology is available yet to create these programs. They are designed to gather certain information, but they don't send it back to home base as soon as they get it; instead, they wait until they've obtain a certain amount of prescribed data then transmit, usually during the evening hours when no one is expected to be on the computer."

"And you're saying Detective Ellison has one of these...ghosts?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why the government? Why not hackers?"

"Right now, the CIA is the only organization who possesses this technology."

"If that's the case, how do you two know about them?"

Dave squirmed a little bit in his seat. "I'm not really at liberty to say, sir."

Simon opened his mouth to further pursue the line of questioning, but again, Jim shook his head in a barely perceptible motion. Simon sighed. "Can you destroy the bug?"

"No, sir."

"Why not?"

"Because it moves, sir. It doesn't stay in the same place. What's more, it's probably booby-trapped. If it's captured wrong, it could delete the precinct's entire computer network system in an effort to cover its tracks. The best bet is to trap it and safely dispose of it."

"So what do you need to accomplish this job?" Simon asked with a reasonableness he wasn't feeling, knowing Rhonda wouldn't be getting the upgrades to her computer that she so desperately needed anytime in the near future.

"We can't do it," Tobias barked out, as if horrified that the captain could even think to ask such a question.

"He's right, sir," Dave said quietly. "We can recognize that it's there, but neither one of us has the skill level to trap a ghost."

Jim rubbed a hand over his face. "Do you know anyone who does?"

"There's only one person in Cascade that's even capable..." Dave started.

"He'd never agree to do it," Tobias interrupted.

"Maybe, if the price is right."

"He's never going to leave the warehouse. There's not enough money in the world to entice him out."

"He might do it for the principal of the matter."

"For a governmental organization, I think not."

"Gentlemen," Simon interrupted.

Both techs looked at him as if only just remembering there was someone else in the room.

"We can, at least, ask," Dave said, looking at Tobias, who merely shrugged. "Can I use your speaker phone, sir?"

Simon nodded. Dave stood and started to dial, then stopped. "You must promise not to try to trace this call."

Simon rolled his eyes, but nodded his assurance.

Dave finished dialing. The phone rang six times before a distracted "hmmm" answered.

"B. It's Dave and Tobias."

"Hey, guys," the voice on the other end of the line said distractedly. A keyboard clicking in the background indicated that the callee was not totally focused on the call at hand.

"B, we have a problem. We're hoping you can help us."

"Sure, send me the ISP and lay out the problem for me in an email. I'll take a look at it as soon as I get this program for the university debugged."

"We have a ghost," Dave said simply.

The typing in the background abruptly stopped.

"Are you sure?"

Tobias leaned forward. "Yes.

"Where?"

"The Cascade Police Department, Major Crimes. The computer belongs to Detective James Ellison, who's recently had governmental problems."

"I see."

Simon started to speak, but Dave raised his hand, cutting him off.

"I... uh... I..." the confident voice seemed to falter.

Jim stepped closer to the voice box. "Pardon me for interrupting, but I must stress that there's a lot of sensitive material on my computer. I can't even begin to think of the damage that could be done if that information got into the wrong hands. Or," Jim's voice dropped, "the lives that could be put at risk."

"I understand that, detective, but there's no way of knowing when the ghost might launch home," the voice countered quietly.

Jim countered. "I agree, time is of the essence."

"I can't root it out from here. There's too many things that could go wrong." Again, there was silence on the other end of the phone. "Is there any time when...when the room where the computer is housed will be completely empty?" the voice finally asked.

"Not completely, no," Simon answered. "This is a police department. There's someone here twenty-four hours a day."

"I see." The silence stretched out again. "Is there any way to have the side of the room with the computer on it cleared out?"

"Why--"

Dave leaned forward intently. "Please, captain, if you want to get rid of the ghost, you have to trust him."

"I can't just give him free access to go rooting around our systems," the captain complained.

"Fine," the tenor voice on the other end said in what sounded like relief.

Jim took another step toward the voice box. "There are only one or two people working the night shift in this department. Chances are they won't even be in the bullpen while you're here. If they are, I can see to it that you're left alone."

A deep sigh resounded over the line, but nothing further was said.

"Detective Ellison will protect you, B. He's got walls like you wouldn't believe."

Jim frowned at the tech, but the hesitant voice emanating from the box stopped him from saying anything. "Are you sure, Dave? I mean, really sure?"

"I'd never lie to you, B. You know that. You're my bread and butter, man."

Another moment of silence. "You trust this cop?"

Dave turned to look at the police detective as if trying to discern the nature of his soul. "Yeah, B, I think I do. His rep here is a good one and if the agency has planted a ghost on him it's because they felt they had no other way to get the information. That just screams 'good cop' to me, you know?"

"Okay," the voice on the other end whispered after another moment of silence.

"So, how much is this going to cost me?" Simon asked, rolling his shoulders, trying to relax, ignoring the glare of the two techs in front of him.

"This isn't about cost, it's about... Look, I'm willing to cut you a deal. If, and this is a big _if_ , I don't run into any trouble at the station, I'll do it free of charge. However, if I am hassled in any way, it'll cost you five grand."

Simon sputtered.

"Take it or leave it."

Jim called out. "We'll take it."

"Where can I enter the building?"

"There's a private entrance on the west side. I'll escort you up," Jim responded.

"All right. I'll be there at midnight. Oh, and, detective?"

"Yes?"

"Don't keep me waiting." With that the connection was cut.

"Who in the hell does he think he is?" Simon bellowed in annoyance.

Dave just shook his head in disbelief. "He's the answer to your prayers, sir. The only man in Cascade, hell, probably the only man in the country, capable of capturing the ghost before it sends its information back to its home base or destroys your system. The fact he even consented to come down here is just...just..."

"Mind-boggling," Tobias said, filling in the blanks, looking stunned by the turn of events.

"Why in God's name would it be mind-boggling?" Simon demanded.

Dave leaned forward, his elbows resting on his legs. "Because, Captain Banks, he never leaves his home. Ever. Under any circumstances."

Simon pulled out his cigar case, opened the lid and inhaled deeply to center himself, but didn't take any cigars out of the container. "And why should I trust my computer systems to a recluse?"

Tobias and Dave looked at each other, each raising an eyebrow, questioning whether or not they should say anything more. Finally, Tobias shrugged and Dave turned to face the captain.

"His name is Sandburg. Blair Sandburg. Let's just say that he has personal reasons for hating the CIA."

"What sort of personal reasons?"

"It's up to him to decide whether or not he wants to trust you with that information," Dave said in a reasonable, but firm, voice.

"Look, you don't seem to realize, he doesn't have to come down here at all. He's doing you a huge friggin' favor," Tobias said as he stood and watched the captain struggle with his emotions. He waved off Dave's comforting hand. "You, sir, have a ghost. You don't want to do anything about it? Fine. Just let it transmit its data back home. There's a pretty good chance it'll simply disappear once it's done so. Of course, you'd be a fool to take that chance." Tobias stomped toward the door. "He said he'd do it for free. Free! You don't even have the faintest idea what he's offered you, do you? He could charge twenty-five thousand dollars for making an attempt from his home and people would still jump at the chance to have him work for them." With that, the shorter tech slammed the door.

Jim and Simon both blinked in surprise as they watched the departing geek.

"I must apologize for Tobias," Dave said quietly. "He's very loyal to his friends."

"Well, if this Sandburg character can inspire that sort of loyalty then maybe this won't be too bad," Simon said, half-way apologetically.

Jim sat in the chair Tobias just vacated and turned toward the remaining technician. "What did you mean when you told Sandburg I had walls he wouldn't believe?"

Dave swallowed nervously, looking back and forth between the detective and the captain. "I...I'd rather not say."

Simon leaned forward. "I rather you would."

Pushing his glasses back up his nose, the younger man shook his head in minute movements and remained silent for nearly a full minute before he looked up at the two men. "I'll tell you, but the only reason I'm doing so is so you'll protect him."

"Protect him? From what?" Jim asked.

"From you."

"From us?" The captain growled, but Jim held up his hand, asking his superior to refrain for a moment.

"Look, I know how this is going to sound, but I'm not crazy or anything."

Jim nodded, encouraging the man to continue.

"Sandburg is an empath," Dave explained quietly.

"A what?" Simon asked, confused.

Dave fidgeted. "He can feel other people's emotions." He raised his hand. "To an extent, everyone can do it. People who are good at it are known as 'people' persons. You know the type? The sort that never knows a stranger, can make friends with anyone." When Jim nodded, he continued, "An empath can take that ability a step farther. They can reach the unreachable, calm the hysterical, get a feel for a crowd."

"What kind of nonsense are you spouting?" Simon asked in irritation. "You sound like something off the SciFi channel."

"Believe it or not, Captain, I don't care one way or another what you think about me. But I'm telling you that Sandburg's empathy is not only real, but that he's lost his shields as well."

"His shields?" Jim asked, with no judgment in his voice.

Dave turned to face him. "He can no longer filter out the emotions of others. If someone standing close to him is experiencing strong emotions, like if they're angry or frightened, it can cause him physical pain. It's one of the reasons he works with computers."

Jim nodded. "So when he says he doesn't want any hassles..."

"He doesn't want to run into anyone who can harm him."

"How --"

Dave shook his head. "If he wants you to know, he'll tell you."

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Harris. I'll personally make sure that Mr. Sandburg is well protected," Jim said as he stood, offering his hand.

Dave shook the hand. "See that you do, detective. Blair has been through a lot. Tobias was correct in saying that he doesn't have to come out. He doesn't. He's one of the leading computer techs in the country and he never leaves his home. The only reason I can come up with for why he's agreeing to do this is because he can't guarantee a capture over the modem. Don't get me wrong, if anyone could do it, he could; but he's worried about what could happen to the people in your computer, the ones the government is gathering information on, if he should fail. He feels very deeply. It would destroy him if someone was killed because he failed to act. You just make sure his faith in you isn't misplaced." With that, the tech also left the office, albeit quieter than his companion.

Simon sighed deeply and closed his eyes, rubbing one large hand over his dark face. "Do you believe him?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, sir, for some reason, I do."

Simon looked up at his detective and shook his head in affectionate exasperation. "Nothing with you is ever simple, is it? First your senses, then ghosts in your computers and now empaths."

Jim just grinned and gave his superior his best _who me_ expression. "Wouldn't want you to get complacent or anything?"

Simon muttered darkly under his breath as his detective wisely beat a hasty retreat.

* * * * * * * * * *

Jim Ellison shift uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair. He stifled a yawn and checked his watch again. 11:58 p.m. Sandburg should be showing up at any moment.

He blinked as he felt a warm gentle brush at the back of his neck. Unconsciously, he turned toward the entrance and spotted a figure standing beyond the door off at an angle in the darkness.

Sandburg.

He didn't know how he knew, but there wasn't any doubt in his mind who the stranger was.

The figure seemed hesitant, and Jim realized he was probably trying to psyche himself up into entering the building.

Jim stood and focused on the elusive computer technician. A wool cap covered the man's head, making it impossible to determine the color or length of his hair. A large corduroy coat covered the man's frame, obscuring the body. The only thing visible was the man's face. An ageless face. An innocent face with big eyes, almost like a Hummel figurine.

Jim became aware of the eyes focusing intently on him. He nodded once in acknowledgment then moved toward the elevator, pressed the button and waited.

 _"youcandothisyoucandothisyoucandothisyoucandothis."_

The whispered mantra didn't really surprise Jim based on what Harris had told him; what shocked him was the protective feeling welling up within him. Sandburg's fear was almost a palatable entity, and he felt compelled to protect the reclusive man.

Just when Jim was convinced that Sandburg would bolt, the programmer threw open the glass door and barged straight into the elevator which had opened behind Jim. Sandburg pressed himself into the far corner of the elevator, his eyes never leaving Jim's form.

Keeping his pace slow as if any sudden movement would send the man fleeing, Jim entered the elevator and pushed the button which would take them to Major Crime.

"Ellison," he said quietly, by way of introduction, choosing not to acknowledge the man's obvious fear. "I appreciate your coming tonight."

The figure swallowed hard. "Sandburg."

"Do you really think you can trap this ghost?" he asked, trying to project a sense of protective serenity.

Sandburg seemed to relax minutely. "Yes. The trick is to see if I can get the information out without it self-destructing."

"Will you do that here?"

Sandburg shook his head. "No. It's too dangerous. I need to work in a secure environment."

"Ah, Chief, I don't mean to be a cop or anything, but there are probably sensitive documents in that ghost."

Sandburg smiled briefly at the nickname, but made no comment on it. "Would you rather I just destroy the bug? I can do that here once I capture it with no problem whatsoever."

Jim thought for a moment then shook his head. "No. I really need to see what they managed to gather. It'll help me figure out who _they_ are and, more importantly, who they're after."

Sandburg nervously chewed his lower lip. "Let's see if I can catch it first, then we can figure out what we're going to do with it."

"I thought you said you could trap it," Jim said in a slightly teasing voice, despite the seriousness of their situation, hoping the young man would relax even more.

Sandburg smiled shyly at him, making him look impossibly young. "It doesn't pay to get cocky."

"Pay?" Jim teased further. "I thought you were doing this job for free."

Sandburg chuckled. "Semantics."

The elevator dinged at the appropriate floor, and any relaxation in the programmer's stance instantly evaporated. The doors opened and Jim raised his hand, indicating that Sandburg should stay where he was. The look of gratitude on the young man's face almost took Jim's breath away and he became even more determined to keep the programmer safe. Jim jammed his foot in the elevator track and looked up and down the hallway, listening to make sure no one was in the general area.

"It's clear. Just follow me and I'll lead you to my computer. You can do your thing and I'll make sure no one bothers you."

"Thank you," Sandburg murmured, then followed him quietly into the bullpen.

Jim watched as the programmer opened his coat and pulled out a fairly large leather case. Sandburg sat in Jim's chair and opened the satchel to reveal gadgets that Jim couldn't even begin to fathom what their use might be.

A mischievous smile blossomed over Sandburg's face as he lifted his head and looked at Jim.

"What?" Jim asked, surprised by the warmth he found in the dark blue eyes which looked in his direction, although he was touched by the fact that the programmer appeared to be relaxing once again.

"You're a computer abuser, aren't you?"

"What?" Jim asked, shocked.

Sandburg chuckled. "Don't bother denying it. Not only that, you're a two finger typist."

"Guilty as charged as far as the second allegation is concerned." He laughed, seeing the humor in the situation. "But as far as the first, I think I'm going to invoke my fifth amendment right not to incriminate myself."

Sandburg snickered as he pulled Jim's PC tower out from under the desk. "I guess that makes you a CAD then."

Jim walked to the main door, but looked back, knowing he was setting himself up by asking, but enjoying the smile on the shy young man's face. "A cad?"

"Yeah." Sandburg grinned as he took the casing off the tower. He looked up from his task and over at Jim. "A computer abuser denier."

Jim could hear the programmer laughing quietly to himself. "That's geek humor, isn't it?"

The laughter grew louder. "Yeah. Sorry."

"Don't be." Jim moved across the bullpen to the other door. "I think we're going to be okay for a while, Chief," Jim said, feeling like he was back in his covert days.

Sandburg nodded absently, already lost in the hunt.

* * * * * * * * * *

Time passed slowly as Jim prowled back and forth between the doors leading into the bullpen. Sandburg worked quietly, except for the occasional swear word or a few murmured words of encouragement, as if trying to convince the computer to give up the ghost.

"C'mon. C'mon. Yes!" the programmer crowed, then in a frenzy of movement disconnected several leads from the computer.

Jim closed the distance between them. "Did you get it?"

Sandburg looked up and nodded, triumph shining from his face. "Yes." He took a deep breath, then released it slowly. "Do you want me to destroy it?"

Jim sat in the chair beside the programmer and looked into the guileless face. "Can you pull the information from the bug?"

"I believe so."

"Can I observe the process?"

Sandburg sat in quiet contemplation, but his eyes never left Jim's face. He slowly raised a hand and skimmed it over Jim's chest, not touching him, although Jim could feel the warmth of the programmer's hands sear through his shirt. Jim sat very still, knowing on some level that whatever was happening was very important to the decision Sandburg was about to make.

"Dave was right. Your walls are incredible."

Jim lifted one side of his mouth in a crooked smile. "Thanks, I think."

Sandburg swallowed hard. "He told you about me, didn't he?"

Jim nodded. "Only so I could protect you."

"I...that is...you're the first person...it's been a long time... since I was able to be....this close... to anyone," Blair whispered, looking embarrassed.

Jim remained silent as he watched the programmer mentally debate the pros and cons of letting Jim into his home, his world.

Sandburg chewed nervously on his bottom lip, then gently laid one hand over Jim's heart. He snatched his hand back, as if not quite believing his own audacity. "How do you do that?" he barely breathed the question.

"Do what?" Jim asked, truly curious.

Sandburg opened his mouth, but couldn't seem to make himself speak. He shut his jaw with a snap. "Okay," he whispered.

"Okay?" Jim asked, not sure he understood.

"You can come home with me."

Jim smiled and nodded, instantly understanding the honor bestowed on him. "I should make another round," he said after a moment of silence.

Sandburg nodded. "Good. That'll give me enough time to plant an h/k."

"A what?"

Sandburg smiled. "I have my own little bug that will destroy any future ghosts which might penetrate your system. I personally designed it. In order to have a hunter/gatherer you must have certain coding. You can't get around it, at least not with our current technology. This puppy will instantly attack anything inserted into your system."

"Simon's going to have a coronary." Jim rubbed a hand over his face.

Blair shrugged indifferently. "I don't have to put it in. It's really just a precautionary measure."

Jim sucked his upper lip against his teeth. "What will happen once whoever sent the ghost realizes it isn't transmitting the information back?"

Sandburg shrugged. "They'll probably assume a coding error rendered it inert and will send another one."

Jim rubbed the side of his neck and looked over at Simon's empty office. "What will it cost?"

"Nothing."

Jim looked back at the programmer. "Nothing? Why?"

Sandburg sighed. "Let's just say I have my own reason for hating shadow organizations."

Jim studied the programmer's face for a moment. "Okay. Plant it. But..."

"Mum's the word," Blair grinned, understanding what Jim couldn't quite bring himself to say.

Jim got up from the chair and moved to the closest door, letting the quiet work sounds wash soothingly over him.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Detective?" the tenor voice called out.

Jim turned and noticed that his computer was put back together and the programmer was closing up his satchel and putting it back under his coat.

"Ready to blow this pop stand?" Jim asked, smiling.

Sandburg nodded his compliance.

"Okay. I want you to stand by the door. I'll get the elevator then call to you."

"Ellison," the programmer said softly.

"Yeah," Jim replied absently, already listening for noises beyond the closed doors.

"Thank you."

Jim stopped and looked back at the younger man. "Shouldn't I be the one thanking you?"

"I just wanted to thank you for not treating me like a freak," Sandburg whispered uncomfortably. "I don't know why you weren't more surprised by my condition, but I appreciate your understanding."

"Let's just say that I know something about being different from everyone else," Jim said softly.

"You?"

"Yeah, me."

Sandburg gave him a slightly disbelieving, speculative look, but nodded. "I guess us odd ducks need to stick together."

"Well, stick with me, Donald, and we'll get out of here before the early birds start showing up."

"After you, Daffy," the programmer snickered behind him.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sandburg once again plastered himself into the far corner of the elevator, although he didn't seem quite as stressed as he had been during their ascent.

Jim pushed the lobby button and breathed a mental sigh of relief as the elevator began its descent. But even as he began to relax, he felt the elevator start to slow near the third floor. "Shit," he whispered to himself as he shot a quick look at the programmer. "I'll take care of this," he said, trying to project a sense of calm he wasn't quite feeling.

"Ellison?" the programmer asked, his voice quavering slightly.

"Just stay where you are." Jim planted himself in front of the doors, hands on his hips. When the metal doors finally slid open, he put his hand out; stopping a handcuffed biker from being moved onto the lift. "Please wait for the next elevator."

"Fuck you," the biker spat.

"Come on, Ellison. You know how slow these damn elevators are," the officer behind the biker pleaded.

Jim punched the button to the lobby. "Sorry, Jay."

"Fucking asshole," the biker growled.

A moan reverberated throughout the elevator, but Jim waited until the doors were completely closed before he turned toward the programmer. Sandburg was bracing himself in the corner, his face as white as a sheet, a thin sheen of perspiration covering his forehead.

Jim started forward. "Sandburg."

"No!" the programmer gasped. "Don't touch me."

"Are you going to be okay?"

The younger man whimpered, but nodded his head. "Just don't touch me."

The elevator dinged as it reached the lobby. "Stay," Jim said, bracing the door and stepping partially out of the lift. "It's clear," he said in a soft voice, holding his hand out toward the programmer, but Sandburg lifted his own hands in a warding gesture. Jim dropped his hand, although he remained where he was, keeping the elevator from closing.

Sandburg took a deep breath, then shot by him.

The elevator next to them dinged. "My baby. Oh my God, my baby! Please, Jesus. Not Levon, not Levon. Dear God, not Levon," a middle-aged woman screamed as she exited. She was supported by an older man and a younger woman and even Jim could feel her pain as it echoed around the lobby.

Sandburg stumbled and fell. He tried to scramble to his feet, and even though the small party was moving away from them, each distraught cry bounced off the elaborate modern architecture of the lobby, and pierced the programmer as surely as if an enemy had stabbed him with a spear. Overwhelmed, he curled into a fetal ball and pressed both of his hands to his head.

"Sandburg." Jim dropped to his knees beside the fallen figure.

"Please...don't....," the programmer breathed, barely above a whisper, before his eyes rolled back into his head and his body went limp. Without another word, Jim heaved the unconscious man over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and headed out of the precinct.

The brisk morning air made him realize he had no idea what sort of vehicle Sandburg drove. Swearing softly to himself, he headed back into the building and toward the closest stairwell that would take him to the parking garage. He moved quickly to his truck, thankful he hadn't run into any other officers, knowing he would have been hard pressed to explain the unconscious body.

Jim unlocked the passenger side door and gently placed Sandburg inside the cab. He debated whether to take Sandburg to the loft or not, but knew he needed to get the kid back into a familiar environment as quickly as possible. Using one arm to brace the programmer back against the seat, he patted the kid's pant pockets, smiling when he found a wallet and a set of keys. After a bit of awkward shuffling he pulled both from Sandburg's jeans and read the address on the driver's license.

"Geez, kid. I can't believe you live in that neighborhood."

Jim closed the door and jogged around the front of the truck, briefly wondering if their setback in the elevator meant that he should warn Simon to expect a bill.

* * * * * * * * * *

Blair woke to fingers nervously playing in his hair. Blinking his eyes open, he focused on the body of the little Barbary ape curled on his shoulder.

"Hey, Larry," he cooed, scratching his companion and smiling when the ape stretched over his chest and made contented noises.

"I had the weirdest ass dream, bud," Blair said quietly, then took a deep breath and looked over at his digital clock. As the numbers came into focus, he frown and fumbled for his glasses on the bed stand and shoved them on his face. "Oh, shit. I missed my appointment."

He gently set his companion onto the bed as he sat up and gasped when he looked into the light blue eyes staring back at him from his couch.

"Yeah, I got that reaction a lot from my ex-wife in the mornings, too," the man chuckled ruefully. "Although I don't think you're one to talk. Not only do you have bed head, you also have hat hair."

Blair blinked, unable to speak for several moments. "You're Detective Ellison."

"Yes, and you're Blair Sandburg," the detective said with some amusement.

Blair brought a hand up to his mouth. "Shit. It wasn't a dream, was it?"

"No, afraid not, kid."

"What are you doing here?" Blair asked, then waved off the answer before the man on the couch could speak. "Sorry. Obviously, you brought me home." He swallowed hard. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I'm just...just..."

"Surprised that I didn't just drop you off at your doorstop?"

Blair blushed, feeling vaguely embarrassed that the detective nailed his train of thought on the first try.

Ellison stood up and walked slowly to Blair's bed, then sat down beside Blair. "I can only speculate about what you've been through, Chief. But know this, I'm not like whoever did this to you."

"I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to imply..."

"I know. No offense taken. So what do you want for breakfast?" Jim asked, slapping his thighs and standing.

Blair shook his head in confusion. "What?"

"Breakfast. You know, the first meal of the day."

Larry crawled up Blair's chest and wrapped his body around him, seeking comfort. Blair petted him absently, though his eyes never left the detective's. "You...you...don't need to do that."

"I know I don't have to, Chief, but I want to. After all, you're going to pull the documents out of my ghost today. Right?"

"Uh...yeah...right."

"So, the least I can do is make you breakfast," Jim said in a very reasonable tone.

"I...I suppose so," Blair finally conceded.

Jim headed into the kitchen. "So eggs and toast okay?"

Blair shrugged. "Sure."

"In the meantime, why don't you go take a shower and wake up a bit. I figure you're probably a little drained from last night's expedition."

Blair felt his heart ache when Jim said the word 'expedition'.

"What?" the older man asked, concern clearly written on his face.

Blair just shook his head, knowing Ellison wouldn't understand. "So, shower?"

"Well, I don't want to force you or anything. It's just that with your hair looking like that--"

Blair self-consciously ran a hand through his hair, noting the matted feel to the limp tendrils surrounding his face. "Okay. Shower. Breakfast. Ghost."

"Works for me."

Blair again set Larry on the bed beside him, then stumbled toward the bathroom, but stopped in the doorway and glanced back at the detective who was peering into his refrigerator. The man simply wasn't projecting, as if all his emotions were kept behind a thick brick wall. He blinked. Surely that couldn't be good for the detective...to keep his emotions so repressed. But then again, it was nice to be able to talk to someone face to face. Blair couldn't even remember the last time anyone had been in the same room as he was, let alone close enough to touch.

Ellison was definitely an enigma.

* * * * * * * * * *

Jim waited until the bathroom door clicked shut, then stopped his rummaging and looked at the closed door. The kid had taken his presence better than Jim had any right to believe he would. However, the look of uncertainty that crossed the programmer's face any time he looked at Jim cut deeply at his soul.

Blair Sandburg was a man who had been on his own for far too long. A predicament with which Jim could easily identify.

He thought his need to protect the wounded man would have ebbed with the morning light, but found it hadn't. In fact, the need had grown stronger.

Larry toddled over to Jim. Smiling, he picked up the little ape, and couldn't help but notice the deliberate lean by his small companion toward the refrigerator door. Jim looked down and spotted a plastic baby bottle on the wire shelf. Easing in, he grabbed the bottle and handed it to the little ape who sighed happily and abruptly leapt from his arms to the top of the refrigerator. Larry turned, sat on a small pillow, sucked on his bottle and gave Jim the once-over. Jim chuckled, wondering how he measured up in Larry's book, then opened the vegetable drawers to check out the fixings for omelets.

* * * * * * * * * *

"You're pacing, man," Blair Sandburg said with some amusement, without looking up from his work.

The detective stopped. "Am I distracting you?"

Blair shrugged. "Yeah, a bit. Sorry. I'm just not used to having anyone being here." Blair looked up and smiled apologetically. "Why don't you go to work? You can stop by after your shift and see how I'm doing."

Ellison appeared to be considering the possibility, then shook his head. "If it's okay with you, I'd like to stay."

Blair frowned slightly, wondering why the detective wanted to remain when he was so clearly uncomfortable. "Okay. But could you take your pacing to the library?"

"Library?"

"Back over that way," he said, waving a hand toward the back of the warehouse. "I'll yell once I have something to report. Oh," he added as an afterthought, "just clap your hands when you get there."

The detective nodded, turned and worked his way toward the back of the warehouse. Blair smiled as he watched the older man meander away from his work area, surprised to realize that he was glad the detective hadn't left when given the choice.

* * * * * * * * * *

Jim walked in the direction the programmer had absently waved, noting the long tables of computers and computer components. While initially appearing to be messy, Jim could tell there was some organization to the layout. A piano sat in one corner, surrounded by stacks of what he could only presume were music sheets. In the opposite corner, were what appeared to be walls; but on closer inspection, Jim realized they were the backs of bookcases. He entered the small, man-made room and clapped his hands once. Lights from several different lamps clicked on instantly.

"Wow," he said in quiet awe. The programmer hadn't been kidding when he called the corner a library. Books of every shape and size were literally crammed into what appeared to be a hundred different bookcases.

In one corner of the library was a large mahogany desk, along another wall was a large leather lazy-boy chair and in another, a laying settee.

"Jim Ellison, you just died and went to heaven." He chuckled as he moved to the closest book shelf to start his exploration of the feast before him.

* * * * * * * * * *

Jim heard a quiet shuffling and looked up from his book. Frowning, he turned and focused on the sound, only to find Larry climbing down from one of the bookshelves. The little ape peered curiously at him, then clapped his hands.

The lights blinked off.

"Oh for..." Jim laid his book in his lap, then clapped his hands to turn them on again.

The ape moved closer to the settee, sat on his haunches, and slapped his hands together again.

"Sandburg!" Jim yelled, keeping one eye the ape, while he clapped. "Your monkey's picking on me!"

Jim heard a distracted 'hmm' in the distance, but had no other indication that Sandburg was listening to him.

Larry looked at him and laughed, then clapped his hands.

Jim clapped again, but so did Larry.

Jim spent a full minute clapping his hands in counterpoint to the ape and accidentally ended up turning the lights off himself. Finally, having no other choice, he laughed. "Okay. Okay. I give." He clapped his hands, and immediately held them out to the little Barbary ape. Larry made a happy sound and waddled over to Jim with his arms raised. Jim picked him up, then looked at his watch. "Ah, lunch. I should have figured."

Jim walked back through the warehouse and stopped at the end of programmer's workbench. "Sandburg?"

"Hmmm?"

"Any progress?"

Sandburg looked up at him and blinked. "Oh, hey, Ellison." He looked down at his watch. "Oh, man. It's way past Larry's lunch." With that the young man stood, took the ape from Jim and moved toward the kitchen.

"Sandburg, I asked, if you were making any progress?"

Blair opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of grapes, before looking at Jim and blinking again. "Blair."

"I beg your pardon."

"My name. It's Blair."

"Jim."

"Hey, Jim. And yeah, I pulled your files off about twenty minutes ago."

"You did?" Jim looked back at the empty work benches. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Blair shrugged as he put Larry on top of the refrigerator, then moved back into the ice box and took out fixings for sandwiches. "I wanted to see if I could decode the bug. You know, see if I could figure out the parameters of the search, see when it was supposed to transmit back home, that sort of thing. You want mustard on your corned beef?"

Jim nodded. "Any luck?"

"It was set to phone home tomorrow." Blair stopped and looked at his watch. "Yeah, tomorrow night around one a.m." He went back to making the sandwiches. "Finding the parameters may be a little more difficult, but I should have it done in about an hour or so." Blair put a sandwich on a small plate and slid it toward Jim.

"An hour? What are you, some sort of slacker?" Jim teased, then bit into his sandwich.

Blair grinned at him as he put the fixings back into the refrigerator. "Want to take a peek at the documents?"

"Well, since I'm here and everything."

Blair chuckled, picked up his sandwich and headed back to his worktables. Jim followed, taking his own sandwich as well.

The programmer plopped into a chair and shoved a spare desk chair over to the detective. Rolling a couple of feet to his left, he typed several things into the computer and motioned Jim over.

Jim looked at the screen and read the file names. "Damn," he whispered. "I really wanted to be wrong about this."

"So you know what's going on?" Sandburg asked, then took a bite of his sandwich.

Jim nodded. "We had a murder recently. The wife claimed that she and the victim were in the Witness Protection Program and that they had been targeted by a shadow branch of the government. The murder had all the ear marks of a covert op job. We took the wife's statement and re-submerged her."

"Man, don't tell me you keep those kind of files on your main frame?" Blair asked incredulously.

"No. Of course not. I mean, technically, I should, but I don't trust these damn demon boxes. It seems like every sixth grader on the planet can hack into a secured system these days."

Blair drummed his fingers on the table top, lost in thought.

"What?" Jim asked, focusing on the thoughtful face of his companion.

"Do you know where your witness is?"

"Why?"

"Could we change these files, pump them with false information and transmit the wrong data back?"

"You know, you're a pretty sneaky guy." Jim chuckled. "That wouldn't be a bad plan if we could be assured they'd move in and try to extract her in a surgical strike. But chances are they'd watch the area for a couple of weeks before trying to pull her out. They stumbled, badly, here. I doubt they'd make the same mistake twice. There's just no way to pull off a sting like that without them being the wiser."

"Damn."

"Yeah." Jim sighed, then took a bite of his sandwich. "So, were you able to get the phone number the bug was going to transmit back to?"

"Yeah, but it's probably just the first in a relay of a hundred. Do you want me to track it for you?"

Jim shook his head. "No. I don't want anyone to be able to trace any part of this back to you."

Blair looked like he was about to protest, but stopped and smiled shyly at him. "I...see your point."

"I thought you might. So, do we know if the ghost made copies of the files or just took the originals?"

Blair hummed to himself for a second. "My guess is that it's probably designed to make copies of the originals, then just before transmit time, it would've deleted them from your hard drive. However, it might have deleted them when it made the copies. If you want, I can modem in to your computer and check."

"Can you just give me a disk with the original files on it, along with the phone number?"

Blair nodded. "Although we probably should pull up a file to make sure they didn't encrypt it."

"Damn," Jim swore softly.

"Do you mind?"

"No. I just hadn't thought of that."

Blair tapped the screen. "Which one can I pull up?"

"Go ahead and open Henderson1.doc."

Blair's fingers were a flurry of movement over the keyboard, then scooted back when the file popped up on the screen. "Looks good. But if you don't mind, I'll run them all through the system, just to make sure there aren't any nasty surprises."

Jim nodded his compliance, then sat back and watched the programmer work.

After several moments of silence passed, Jim asked quietly, "So have you always been interested in computers, Chief?"

Blair shook himself as if just remembering that Jim was still there. "No, actually, I was really into Anthropology. Have a BA and an MA in it."

"An MA? You don't look old enough to have gotten your Masters yet."

"I heard that a lot." Blair smiled at him. "I was one of those whiz kids. You know, the type to start college at sixteen and screw up the grading curve for everyone else. I had my Bachelors by nineteen, received my masters at twenty-one. Was working on my doctorate..."

"So what happened?" Jim prompted when he trailed off.

The programmer shrugged. "Life happened."

"Meaning?"

Blair turned and studied him for several moments. "As an anthropologist, I had a broad background in psychology, sociology, linguistics. I was, sort of, you know, 'ology' rounded."

Jim nodded, but remained quiet.

"Naomi, that's my mom, used to say that I was a people person, that I had a natural empathy for people. I liked to think that I was just an observer of mankind, sort of a detective, if you will."

Jim smiled encouragingly at the programmer when he slowed to a stop.

"I was really into Conan Doyle's _Sherlock Holmes_ stories. You know, where he could look at someone and tell them who and what they were simply by looking at clues."

"Yeah, I liked those stories as a kid, too."

"Well, I used to do this little shtick to amuse my friends where I would become Sherlock Holmes and tell them things about what they had done that day. Mostly, it was camp. You know, make stuff up to get a laugh, although I was actually pretty good about pulling clues from people too. Eli, my mentor, loved this routine and had me do it for a couple of his classes. He was always trying to promote anthropology as something other than a dry subject. One thing led to another and I found myself doing it for one of the university mixers, some big fund-raising party."

"And?" Jim asked when the programmer fell silent again.

"Two days later I woke up inside a laboratory."

"God, Chief. I'm so sorry. I had--"

Blair shook his head. "Nothing to be sorry for. Wasn't your fault, man."

"Can you talk about it?"

The programmer shrugged. "I told them it was a gag. I told them how I did everything, but it was like they didn't believe me." Blair's voice grew quaky and he struggled for a moment to control his emotions. "They shot me full of different drugs, used to hook...hook me up to machines...they--"

"Sh," Jim crooned softly, reaching out and gently laying his hand on the trembling man's shoulder, wanting to pull him into a tight embrace, but refraining, not sure how the programmer would react to the unwanted touch. "You don't need to say anything else. They had no right, Chief, absolutely no right."

It took Blair a couple deep breaths before he pulled himself together. "How did you escape?" Jim asked, not wanting to upset the young man any further, but wanting to know.

"I didn't. As abruptly as it had started, it ended. One day, about a year later, I simply woke up in Chiang Kai-shek Park."

"What did you do?"

Blair took a deep breath and smiled weakly at Jim. "I went to the CIA."

"What?"

Blair chuckled. "Actually, I have a friend who's an ex-agent. He'd been burned by the agency too. Those last few weeks were beyond hell. When I was in the lab, I was aware of the thoughts of the researchers, but I kept that information to myself. I knew that if I ever admitted that their experiments were a success, I'd never be allowed to leave. What I didn't realize was how safe the lab was. Out in the real world, I had no barriers. No way to protect myself. Jack understood, helped to set me up here in the warehouse, helped me find direction, basically kept me from going insane. I owe him my life, my sanity."

"Do you ever leave the warehouse?"

"Hey, I left it last night."

"And when was the last time before that?" Jim asked softly, non-judgmentally.

Blair shrugged and busied himself at the keyboard. "A couple of years."

"A couple of... Surely you could--"

Blair held up a hand cut Jim off. "Don't call me, Shirley." He smirked, but the smile quickly disappeared. "I used to go out occasionally at night."

"What happened?" Jim asked in a whisper.

Blair popped a disk out of the computer's drive and handed it to Jim. "Basically, the same thing as happened last night. No matter how careful you are, something almost always happens. I didn't want to end up in some... psych ward because I passed out then freaked out when someone tried to revive me. So I decided it was probably best to stay here, within my own little world."

A wave of sadness rolled over Jim. "Are you saying you can never leave this warehouse?"

Blair stood up and began to nervously pace. "Essentially. I mean I've done tons of research on this subject, but there just doesn't seem to be any viable option around it...not that there's a lot of primary data out there on this phenomena."

"Wait a minute." Jim stood up. "What do you mean _viable_ option?"

Blair shrugged. "Well, I did find this one account of an Indian shaman who seemed to have lost his shields. His tribe thought he was mad, but crazy people have often been revered by ancient cultures. They basically left him alone. Anyway, one day, the tribe captured a scout from another tribe, they were going to put him to death, but the shaman claimed him."

"Why would the shaman do that?"

"Well, you see, the scout was actually a sentinel, which is a man with five heightened senses."

"But what does heightened senses have to do with the shaman having no shields?"

Blair ran his hand back through his hair. "I'm not really sure. I mean I know sentinels have helped shamans while they spirit walk. A sentinel can tell when a shaman has left and returned to his body. They've also been known to lead a lost shaman back to his body; but all my research has shown me that a shaman usually helps a sentinel, not the other way around. See having heightened senses means that sometimes a sentinel would--"

"Grey out?"

Blair stopped his pacing and looked at Jim with open admiration. "Exactly." Blair began to pace again. "I suppose, if you extrapolated from the data, and I mean, really stretched it until it was about to break, it might make sense that such a partnership would work. We could speculate that a sentinel, in order to survive, would need to learn how to repress or control his senses to a certain extent. It could then follow that he would probably also be able to repress or control his emotions. That would let him be able to be around a shaman without shields, but it doesn't explain how they would be able to integrate themselves back into the tribe. And the account clearly states that once the two had bonded, the shaman was able to interact with the tribe again. There are just so many unknowns." Blair threw his hands up in exasperation and stopped his pacing again.

"Maybe the shaman could use the sentinel's shields, and with his senses the sentinel could make sure that the shaman wasn't in distress."

"But what would the sentinel get out of it?" Blair asked, looking intrigued.

"Someone he could lose control of his senses and emotions with," Jim speculated carefully.

"But wouldn't the emotions--"

Jim shook his head. "Not if the two were basically one. If they were joined...somehow."

Blair slowly nodded his head. Jim could practically see the wheels turning as the programmer came up with theories at lightening speed and tossed them just as quickly. After a moment, Blair sighed. "Well, interesting theory, but it's a moot point after all."

"Why's that?" Jim asked softly, not liking the look of crushed resignation on the young man's face.

"There aren't any true sentinels anymore, at least in modern cultures." Blair held up his hand to cut off Jim's protest. "Oh, there are people who have one, two, even three heightened senses, but there's been no documented cases with someone with all five. Believe me. I know."

"Oh? You know, do you?" Jim teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Blair smiled at him. "Yeah, you see, that's what I was studying. Sentinels. I did my master thesis on them. I was going to try and do my doctorate on them as well; had even gotten a grant to go to South America to visit the indigenous tribes down there...well...before all this happened." He waved his hand around the warehouse.

"I'm sorry, Chief."

"Hey, don't worry about it. I've accepted my fate.

"How can you be so accepting?" Jim asked, feeling a rage burn deep within him over the injustices this young man had had to endure.

"How can I not?" Blair asked softly as he sat back in his chair. "Believe me, Jim, I've done my share of raging. But look at it like this, think of me of an accident victim. One day I was perfectly fine, the next day I was handicapped, except, I'm not blind, or paralyzed or living off machines. I live a good life. I can support myself. I have everything I need --"

"What of companionship?" Jim saw a haunted look flit over the programmer's eyes before he concealed them behind his mask again.

"Hey, I have friends. I have Jack and Dave and Tobias. I email people all over the world. I'm...I'm not lonely."

Jim looked down at the disk in his hand, unable to bear the lie in the programmer's eyes.

"Anyway, if you need any help tracking down the phone relay, let me know. I'd be happy to do it," Blair said, shoving his expressive hands into his back pockets.

Jim knew that was his cue to leave, although he was reluctant to do so. "I really appreciate your helping us out, Sandburg."

"Hey, no problem. It was the least I could do, especially after you brought me home."

"I'll drop your car off this evening, if that's okay with you?"

Blair popped himself in the head with an open hand. "My car. Oh, man, I totally forgot about my car."

"What do you drive?"

"It's a gray 1962 Corvair, license 743 SFU. I parked it in the lot across the street from the precinct. But you don't have to bring it back. Tobias or Dave would probably get it for me."

"I don't mind." Jim smiled at him. "Tell you what...if it makes you feel better, you can cook me dinner as payment."

Blair blinked, as if not comprehending what he was saying, then quietly asked, "You mean, you'd like to come back...here...that is?"

Jim nodded, like it was no big deal. "Yeah. I would."

The programmer smiled brilliantly at him. "Well, okay then. All right. I can do dinner. Yeah, that would work. Would around seven be okay?"

"Sounds great, Chief."

After they had said their good-byes, Jim sat in his truck for several minutes contemplating what he was getting himself in to; for he knew that if he befriended Sandburg, he would never be able to walk away, knew it in his bones, knew it with a unshakable certainty. Blair knew about heightened senses, but more importantly, he needed Jim. Jim allowed himself a smile. Sandburg might not realize he needed Jim, but he did...and Jim was just the one to prove it to him.

* * * * * * * * * *

Jim turned off the ignition and closed the garage door by pushing the remote control. He semi-expected Sandburg to be waiting for him by the door, and could admit, if only to himself, that he was a little disappointed when the programmer was nowhere to be seen.

"Yo, Sandburg," Jim yelled as he pocketed the keys, juggled the bottle of wine and the pie he brought over, and pushed the door open with his hip. "Blair?"

The scents of dinner wafted around him as he walked into the kitchen and set his cargo on the island, even as he turned toward Blair's bed. The programmer was sound asleep.

Jim smiled, and closed the distance between them. He sat on the edge of the bed and took the opportunity to study the young man, who laid curled on his side, his arms wrapped protectively around the little Barbary ape.

By pulling Sandburg's driving record, Jim had learned that the programmer was twenty-seven, although in sleep he barely looked eighteen. Despite having part of his soul ripped away, Sandburg seemed to retain an aura of innocence about him, as if somehow he couldn't be sullied by the world with all its darkness.

Knowing he shouldn't, but being unable to resist, Jim reached out and gently fingered the silky curly tresses which surrounded the programmer's face. The ape stirred in Blair's arms and blinked up at Jim, but didn't seem disturbed by the presence of a stranger in his home.

"Jim," Blair murmured huskily, without opening his eyes.

Startled, Jim removed his hand, but didn't get up from the bed.

Blair seemed to hum quietly to himself for a second, but didn't rise any closer to consciousness, in fact, seemed to nestle down more into the blankets beneath him.

"Sandburg."

"Hmm?"

"You need to get up, Blair."

"Why?"

"'Cause you promised to feed me."

"I'll feed you all right," Blair said dreamily, but the contented hum stopped suddenly as the programmer's eyes snapped open. "Jim!"

"Blair."

"What are you doing here?"

"I invited myself to dinner, remember?"

"Dinner?" Blair frowned for a moment. "Dinner!" he exclaimed, as he all but jumped around Jim to get out of bed, still holding Larry.

"Whoa, calm down, Chief. It's not burning," Jim said, reaching out to steady the wobbly programmer.

"Wow. I...uh...errr..."

"Were more exhausted than you expected from last night's ordeal."

"Yeah. I guess I was."

"So what smells so good?" Jim asked, deciding to let Sandburg off the hook, amused that he could get the younger man so flustered.

"It's a Moroccan casserole."

"Is it spicy?"

"No, not really. Although if I did it right, you should be able to taste quite a blend of spices."

"I'm always open for new experiences."

Blair smiled at him, but didn't move, as if unsure what to do.

"The Jags are playing tonight. I thought maybe we could watch the game," Jim said conversationally, although he still hadn't removed his hand from the programmer's arm.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

"How long until dinner?"

Blair blinked at Jim, then looked down at his watch. "About another ten minutes."

"I brought some wine and a pie."

"A pie?" Blair asked, waking more and looking toward the kitchen. "What kind?"

Jim smiled. "Sally's apple pie."

"Who's Sally?"

"My old man's housekeeper. I haven't talked to him in years, but Sally drops by the station from time to time to drop off goodies."

"Sounds like a wonderful lady."

Jim smiled gently. "Yeah. She practically raised me." Jim finally released Blair's arm and the programmer moved into the kitchen and sniffed appreciatively over the box.

"I can't remember the last time I had a homemade apple pie."

"Well, once you have Sally's, you'll be ruined for life. No other pie will do."

Blair put Larry on top of the refrigerator then opened the ice box and gave the ape a bottle of juice.

"By the way, Simon wants to know how to make out the check."

Blair turned back toward him and frowned. "Check?"

"You said it was free as long as there weren't any problems. I...failed to keep you safe last night."

The programmer waved a dismissive hand at him.

"What? What's that?" Jim asked, frowning.

"Last night wasn't bad. I mean, it was embarrassing, sure, but it wasn't bad, comparatively speaking."

"But..."

"Besides, you said you didn't want any way for anyone to trace anything back to me. I'm thinking a check with my name or my company's name on it is going to be like flashing a big neon sign."

Jim chuckled. "I see your point."

"I thought you would." Blair grinned brightly at him. "Why don't you pour the wine and turn on the television and I'll set up dinner."

Jim nodded his compliance, found the remote control on the kitchen island and pushed the power button. The largest television screen Jim had ever seen blinked to life. "I really am in heaven," he whispered reverently, ignoring the snickers from behind him.

* * * * * * * * * *

Blair leaned back on the couch, contented. Jim had liked his casserole, the Jags game had been rousing, and the pie had been everything Jim had promised. A fist tightened around his heart as he remembered a time when he had routinely hung out with friends, laughing and shooting the bull.

A small anger burned deep within him. How dare Jim come into his life. How dare Jim remind him of everything he lost.

How dare Jim leave him.

Blair closed his eyes and swallowed hard, instantly ashamed at himself for his anger.

Jim was only being kind, wanting only to help the poor crippled man.

He almost laughed.

But where would he be when Jim left?

Jim would leave...of that he had no doubt. And he would be right back where he started, by himself.

He didn't mind his life so much, didn't mind the solitude. The anthropologist within him disagreed, but he ruthlessly shoved him back into a corner. If he buried himself deep enough in his work, he didn't have time to think about his life, or lack thereof.

"Penny for your thoughts," Jim said quietly from the other end of the couch.

"I was thinking I'd like to have another piece of Sally's pie," he obfuscated. "But I'm too tired to get up and cut myself another piece."

Jim gave him a strange look, before he grinned. "Is that your not-so-subtle way of asking me to cut you a piece?"

Blair chuckled. "Naw, man. I'm too full. Honestly. But I wouldn't object to your leaving a small piece for tomorrow."

"How about I just leave you the rest of the pie?"

"No. Don't do that. Sally made it for you. I'm just grateful you conceded to let me have a piece," he teased.

"To watch a Jags game on this screen, I'd gladly let you have the whole pie. I swear it was like actually being at the game."

Blair leaned on the back of the couch with one elbow, and looked at Jim. "I'll tell you what, if the Jags make the playoffs, you can come over and watch the game with me _if_ and only if, you bring another one of Sally's pies."

"Why, Mr. Sandburg, I think you just tried to bribe an officer of the law."

"Why, Detective Ellison, I do believe you're correct." Blair raised an eyebrow at him. "So whatcha gonna do about it, copper?"

"I'm thinking I'm going to have to beg Sally to make me a couple of pies cause the Jags are definitely going to the playoffs this year."

Blair laughed. "Now, you're talking, man." Blair rubbed his stomach contentedly. "I guess I should drive you home now."

"You don't have to do that," Jim protested.

"Sure, I do. I can drive, you know. Plus, you'll never get a cab out here at this time of night."

Jim shifted uncomfortably. "I suppose you're right."

"Well, okay, then." Blair slapped his legs, then got up and retrieved his keys.

Jim moved into the kitchen and cut a huge slice of pie and put it on a plate and stuck it in the refrigerator.

"Man, that's too much."

"Ah," Jim countered, raising the spatula.

"But--"

"Ah. Ah."

Blair opened his mouth, but Jim raised the kitchen utensil, semi-threatening, until Blair broke down and laughed. "All right, all right, I concede."

"As well you should."

Blair snorted. "Do you always get your own way, Ellison?"

Jim smiled beatifically. "Practically all the time."

Blair just rolled his eyes and moved toward the garage, making Jim scramble behind him to keep up.

The trip to Jim's house was fairly quiet, just a few comments about the game and its players. Blair pulled up to Prospect place, but Jim didn't get out of the car.

"You're nothing like I expected you to be," the detective said quietly, his face hidden in the darkness.

Blair remained silent, not sure what to say.

"You're a lot stronger than I thought you'd be, more together, less angry."

"I'm angry," Blair whispered, feeling uneasy.

"But it doesn't rule your life like it rules mine."

"Do you have a lot to be angry about, Jim?"

"Yes," came the quiet reply. After a moment, he added, "I didn't think you could leave your warehouse."

Blair shifted nervously, already feeling anxious to return to the safety of his haven. "I can, but I don't very often. Like I said before, too many random variables to make it completely safe."

Blair could sense the other man was nodding.

"So when can I see you again?" Jim asked, abruptly.

"Pardon me?"

"I was thinking this weekend," Jim said, seemingly not noticing Blair's sputter. "There's another Jags game on Saturday, so I'll bring another pie. I was thinking I might come over in the morning so I could finish that book I started today. Would ten work for you?"

"Ten in the morning?" Blair asked, feeling his IQ drop.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking. Unless you have other plans?"

"Uh, no."

"Good, it's set then. See you on Saturday, Chief." Jim patted him on the shoulder, then got out of the car. "Drive safely and call me when you get home so I don't worry. I left my card on your refrigerator door."

Blair blinked, stunned, as Jim shut the door and jogged to the lobby of his building. Did Jim just make a date with him? It certainly appeared that way. He shook his head and grinned as he pulled the car away from the curb. Of course he hadn't. Jim wanted to be friends. Friends hung out with each other. So why did he feel pulled toward the older man? Why were his emotions all over the board?

* * * * * * * * * *

The next two weeks passed quickly for Blair. He worked almost constantly, like usual, but now his endless days were broken by brief moments of Jim. The calls first started with Jim bitterly complaining about the useless computer the police department had saddled him with and asking, almost demanding, assistance when the _demon boxes_ refused to do what he wanted them to do. After a while, it became apparent that Jim was also calling him when he was bored with his paperwork, which seemed to be all the time.

Jim had joined him the first weekend, as promised, spending a good part of the day reading in the library. He came out occasionally, foraging for food and conversation, then would disappear back to the corner of the warehouse. Blair continued his work, although he was very aware of Jim's presence.

The Jags game had gone into overtime and Blair, shocking himself, had offered to let Jim spend the night on the couch. To his surprise, Jim took him up on it and spent all of Sunday with him as well.

As the days passed, Jim would show up unannounced with bags of lunch or dinner, inviting himself in, claiming he had made a vow to put ten more pounds on the programmer. And while Blair grumbled, he really didn't mind, even finding himself looking forward to the interruptions.

So it was with a certain amount of anxiety that he looked at his watch again. Jim was an hour late. While the Jags game didn't start for another hour, Jim was never late, or at least, never late without a phone call.

He tried to lose himself in his latest project, but his eyes kept drifting back to the clock. Another hour ticked slowly by. Then another. Finally, Blair gave up all pretense of trying to work.

He moved slowly into the kitchen and stood before the refrigerator door looking at the card Jim had given him that first night. Except to call him to let him know that he had gotten home safely, Blair had never called Jim. He swallowed hard. It was easier that way. He hadn't wanted Jim to feel obligated to talk to him. He closed his eyes, instantly recognizing the lie. He hadn't wanted to be rejected, hadn't wanted to hear a tone in Jim's voice which indicated that he didn't have time to talk to him. So it had been easier to let Jim call him.

But now Jim hadn't - called him that is.

Taking a deep breath, he punched in the numbers to Jim's cell phone.

 _You know the drill. Leave a message._

Innocuous, Blair thought when he realized it was a message Jim could use while undercover. "Hey, Jim. It's me, Blair. I..." Blair sighed, not sure what to say. "Call me when you have a moment, okay?"

"Stupid," he hissed to himself after he hung up the phone. Angrily, he went back to his work tables and threw himself into his project.

When he raised his head to look at the clock again, he realized it was almost morning.

"Fuck you, Ellison," he growled, surprising himself by the depth of his anger. How dare the detective worm his way into his life, a life he was perfectly content with, then leave him without a word.

"I didn't ask for your friendship, you prick. I didn't ask you to spend time with me. I didn't ask for you to make me care."

Blair gasped, shocked by the finally spoken truth. He cared about Jim Ellison.

"But it's only because he comes over here all the time. He listens to you, talks to you, plays with you, argues with you," he tried to reason with himself.

Why? he wondered. Jack cared about him too, even occasionally came over, although he had learned not to stay too long as his presence quickly wore down whatever resistance Blair had managed to rebuild.

"So why you, Ellison?"

It was obvious that Jim had tight control over his emotions, although Blair had never quite learned how or why. Jim had mentioned something about having a lot to be angry about. Was his control necessary to survive?

But no one had that good of control over their emotions.

Blair frowned.

Jim really didn't have total control over his emotions. He got angry all the time, venting about the computers and stupid criminals. He laughed a lot and teased. He felt sadness, Blair had seen it in his eyes.

It didn't make any sense. Why didn't Jim's emotions affect him like everyone else's?

Blair snorted in amusement. If they were in the jungles...say of Peru... he'd have tested Jim to see if he was a sentinel. After all, Burton had indicated...

A sentinel.

Blair blinked.

Jim always knew where Larry was in the warehouse -- even when the ape went into the rafters. Jim could also pick out each and every spice he used in his cooking. They had also spent hours talking about sentinels and how they might function in the modern world. Blair blinked again. At the time, he had thought Jim was humoring him about his studies, but now...

Had Jim being using him? Using him to...cope with his heightened senses?

"God, I’m so stupid!" he screamed up into the rafters.

"What? You just throw me away now that you have all the information you need to survive?"

Blair screamed out his frustration again, startling Larry.

Blair spun and moved back toward the phone, angrily pushing the buttons to Jim's home number.

 _We're sorry, the number you have dialed is not responding. Please check your number and try again._

"Oh, I'll try again. You can be sure of that."

Blair punched in the numbers to Jim's work.

 _Cascade Police Department. How may I direct your call?_

"I'd like to speak with Detective Ellison please."

 _One moment, please._

"Ellison's desk," a female voice intoned pleasantly from the other end.

"I'd like to speak with Detective Ellison please."

"I'm sorry, Detective Ellison is not at his desk. May I take a message?"

"Sure, just tell him Sandburg called."

"Sandburg? Blair Sandburg?"

Blair stopped his pacing, surprised by the apparent recognition in the woman's voice. "Yeah, that's right."

"Can you hold for a moment?"

"Sure." Blair frowned, not quite sure what to make of this turn of events.

"Sandburg," a deep male voice intoned, almost in relief. "This is Captain Simon Banks."

"What happened to Jim?" Blair whispered, his heart dropping abruptly into his stomach.

"There was an explosion last night at his home."

"Oh, God. Was he..." Blair trailed off, unable to finish the question, terrified of the answer.

"No, he's alive. Bruised and battered, but..."

"But what?" Blair demanded.

"He's not responding to anyone or anything. It's almost like he's in a coma, but the doctors can't find anything wrong with him. I think it might be his..."

"Senses," Blair finished for the captain when the other man hesitated.

"Yes.

A sentinel. Jim was a sentinel. Blair shook his head, confused by the emotions battering him. Anger. Excitement. Betrayal. Hope.

"Can you help him?" Banks asked from the other end of the phone.

"What makes you think I can help him?" Blair asked, startled.

"He says you provide a sense of calm for him, that you help center him. He said you're an expert on people with heightened senses."

"But he never told..." Blair sputtered in protest.

"But you knew."

Blair shook his head and rubbed one hand over his face. He hadn't known. He hadn't. Had he?

"Can you help him?" the voice asked insistently.

"I don't know," Blair whispered.

"Will you try?"

Blair stopped his pacing and tried to calm his breathing. "I...I'll never be able to enter a hospital."

"How about the parking lot?"

"What?"

"There's a small park at the back of the main parking lot. It's fairly isolated. If you can make it there, I'll bring Jim to you."

Blair shook his head violently, although he asked in a calm voice which surprised him, "When?"

"I can have him there in an hour."

Blair looked at the clock. If he left now, he could beat rush hour traffic, but that would leave him open and exposed during the day when most people were out and about.

"I'll make sure you're safe, that no one bothers you or gets too close. I'll also make sure you get home safely, no matter what the outcome."

"Okay," he whispered, surprised by the gruff captain's offer. "One hour," he said, hating the quaver in his voice. "Don't keep me waiting."

"I won't, son. I won't.

* * * * * * * * * *

Blair hugged himself against the cool damp morning as he watched two men approach; one he recognized from a picture that Jim had shown him as Simon Banks and the other was a dark, heavyset man. They push a wheelchair toward the park, toward him. As the men closed the distance, Blair could see the large bruises on Jim's face and arms.

He closed his eyes briefly, deeply ashamed of his earlier anger.

When he opened them again, the men were standing at the edge of the parking lot, waiting for him to acknowledge them. Touched by their concern, he pointed to a nearby picnic table.

Banks nodded at him, then to the other man. The two men bent over and gently lifted Jim from the chair and carried him over to the table that Blair had prepared with pillows and blankets. After they had settled the detective, Banks touched his friend's arm and both men stepped back several feet.

Blair swallowed hard, but moved quickly to Jim. He was horrified by all the scrapes and bruises on the man's body. He speculated that Jim probably had his senses open when the explosion occurred, probably feeling each projectile as it slammed into him as if it were a knife.

He had probably overloaded on touch and pain.

Blair took a deep breath and released it slowly.

"Can you help him?" the captain asked quietly.

"I think so. I just need him to focus on one or two of his other senses," Blair said aloud, although more to himself than to the two watching men.

"Hey, Jim," Blair said quietly. "My guess is that you've gone pretty deep trying to get away from the pain; but you need to come back, buddy. I mean, after all, you promised me pie last night and didn't deliver. I'm rather hacked at you at the moment."

No response. But then again, he hadn't really been expecting one.

Blair reached into his backpack and pulled out a small vial.

"What are you doing?" the captain asked nervously.

"Don't worry, it's just lemon juice."

Blair opened Jim's mouth and poured a drop of the concentrated liquid on the sentinel's tongue. Jim's lips twitched slightly.

"That's right, Jim. You didn't like that much, did you? I think you need to wake up and tell me that."

For the next several minutes, Blair talked quietly to Jim, dropping different flavors onto his tongue, waving various scents under his nose, gently caressing his face and chest. Blair could feel Jim's consciousness raising closer to the surface, but the man had yet to open his eyes.

"Okay, if you don't open your eyes now, I'm going to pull out the big guns," he threatened softly.

"What...what are you going to do?" the man beside Simon asked, frowning, but not threateningly.

Blair lifted up a small box of Listerine flavor strips and smiled.

"Well, if that doesn't bring him out of this...zone... I don't know what will," Simon said with a soft chuckle.

Blair shrugged, then carefully removed one of the strips from the tiny container, tore off a corner and gently placed it on Jim's tongue.

The response was almost instantaneous. "Jesus!" the detective shouted, bolting upright.

"Yes!" Blair crowed, instantly guiding Jim back down to the table when the older man sagged.

"What happened?" Jim whispered.

"Your apartment exploded. You were almost killed," Simon said, closing the distance between them.

Blair swayed as the relief from the other men washed over him. Not negative emotions, but strong ones none-the-less. Jim grabbed his hand and the intensity seemed to dial down. Blair blinked in surprise.

"Hey, Joel," Jim greeted the other man as he stepped into view.

"Jim. You scared the hell out of us."

"Sorry." Jim looked up at Blair, then over at his friends. "How did you find Sandburg?"

"We didn't. He found us."

Jim looked back at him and Blair smiled. "You stood me up last night. I wanted to..."

"See that he was okay?" Joel offered when Blair hesitated.

Blair shook his head. "No. Give him a piece of my mind. I had my taste buds all set for one of Sally's pies. I thought you were holding out on me, man," Blair said, trying to make light of the anger he had felt earlier.

"You came," Jim said softly.

"Well, I have to protect my pipeline, you know."

Jim smiled at him and Blair was startled by the warmth he found in the light blue eyes.

"I think you need to go back inside and get checked over," Blair said quietly, when he felt himself start to blush under the sentinel's scrutiny.

"That's not...what the..." Simon sputtered as a large group of teenagers ran toward them.

Blair fell to his knees and moaned as the group surged around the table toward the basketball court beyond them. Blair grabbed his head in pain, barely aware that Jim was speaking. The world began to gray out, but just when he thought he was going to pass into darkness, the pain receded to a manageable level. Shaking himself, he realized he was surrounded by Jim's arms.

"Shh, I got you, Blair. I got you. You're okay."

Blair blinked when he realized he was indeed okay. Jim was buffering him from the emotions of the teenagers. He could almost feel them bounce off the shield surrounding him.

"How --"

"I think you know how," Jim said softly into his ear.

"Then we were right in our speculations?"

"It appears so."

"Look, Jim, we need to get you back to the hospital," Simon said, interrupting them.

"I'm fine, Simon. Right now, I just want to go home."

"Jim, you don't have a home at the moment," Joel gently reminded the detective.

"Oh. Yeah. I guess you're right," Jim said, almost in amusement.

"You could stay with me. I have plenty of room and I know Larry wouldn't mind," Blair offered quickly, surprising himself as well as Jim.

"Are you sure, Blair?"

Blair turned in Jim's arms and looked the detective in the face. "Yeah, sure. Why not?"

Jim studied his face for a moment. "Okay," he agreed, a smile brightening his face. "But only for a week. I don't want to overstay my welcome."

* * * * * * * * * *

"Lucy, I'm home," Jim Ellison called out to his roommate, then laughed as he laid the groceries on the kitchen island. "The hunter/gatherer returns from the Farmer's Market bearing treasures."

"What did you get, man?" Blair asked, bouncing into the kitchen and looking through the cloth bags.

"I got a couple of cantaloupe, a honey dew melon, strawberries to die for, and all of Larry's stuff."

"Oh, my God, look at the size of these beauties," Blair said in awe as he lifted the quarter flat of berries out of the bag. "You know, living with a sentinel definitely has its advantages. Good grief, how many flats did you get?" he asked as he burrowed deeper into the bag.

Jim shrugged. "A couple. I thought you could make that strawberry smoothie thing you did last week."

Blair laughed. "Jim, we're going to have to buy an upright freezer if I turn all these into smoothies."

"Okay." Jim grinned. His week had long since come and gone. Sandburg had made no noise about him leaving and Jim realized he had no desire to go; so by unspoken agreement, he stayed. "How's the Ryan project going?"

"Hmm? Oh, I finished it about an hour ago and emailed it off. I'm working on the Alverez program now. I'll probably be done later tonight."

"But you didn't promise it until Wednesday."

Blair shrugged. "It's not that difficult. While I'm sure Mr. Alverez found the programming daunting, it really isn't that hard. In fact, I'll probably cut my fee in half. I feel sort of bad taking his money for something I can do in my sleep. And I can always start on the Datacorp debugging project a little early, because I have no idea how long that will actually take."

"But you could put Alverez off tonight and finish it tomorrow, right? And still be early?"

Blair blinked at him. "I suppose so. But why?"

"I...I was thinking..."

"Oh, no..." Blair whimpered playfully, as he picked up the strawberries and started putting the flats into the refrigerator.

"I was thinking we could have the department poker game here tonight," Jim said, watching the programmer carefully. As he expected, Blair's heartbeat started to climb, although he gave no outward indication that he was in distress. "You've already met them all one-on-one," Jim pushed gently.

"Jim..." Blair started.

"We've already determined that we don't have to be touching all the time for me to be able to buffer you. You've been doing great during Joel and Simon's visits. Just think of this as the next step of getting you out into the world."

"What if I don't want to go out?" Blair asked softly, standing and shutting the refrigerator door behind him.

"You do."

"Do I?"

"Yes, you do. And I want to be the one to take you. Come on, we've talked about going up to Joel's cabin and doing a little fishing."

Jim watched the younger man shrink within himself.

"It's not a pipe dream, Sandburg. You can do this."

"Can I?"

Jim closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around the programmer. He had learned very early on that Blair craved tactile touch and had discovered that the sentinel within him needed it as well. He had also found that he could get to the root of most of Blair's problems by holding him. "You're scared."

The programmer nodded.

"You shouldn't be. You know all of the guys. They've all been here before."

"But they'll be here all at once."

"I wouldn't ask you to do this if I didn't think you could handle it. If at any point in the evening it becomes too much, we'll send them packing. But I'd like for you to give it a try, Blair."

The programmer chuckled in his arms, even as he shook his head.

"What?" Jim asked, stepping back slightly so he could look into the amused face.

"You only call me Blair when you want something."

"That's not true."

"Or when I'm scared."

"That's so not true."

"Yeah, it is."

Jim sputtered in protest.

"When was the last time you called me Blair?"

"Well, there was... Okay, how about? I know I..."

Blair grinned at him, but the smile slowly faded and his face grew serious. "This is important to you?"

Jim nodded. "You're a part of my world. They're a part of my world. I'd like for the two parts to meet and mesh."

"Why?"

"Why?"

"Yeah, why?"

Jim swallowed. "Because you're important to me, that's why."

Blair's smile warmed Jim. "Thanks, man."

"You're welcome," Jim said softly, raising his hand into the programmer's hair and losing himself momentarily in the silky tresses.

"Jim?"

"How much longer are we going to dance around this, Blair?" Jim asked quietly, even as he moved closer to the younger man.

Blair's eyes grew wide with fright. "Around what?"

Jim pressed his lips against the programmer's forehead, then whispered, "Around completing the bond."

Blair pushed away from him and walked around to the other side of the kitchen island.

"Why are you fighting it?" Jim asked in frustration.

"I'm not fighting it."

"You are. You're fighting everything. You fought letting the guys come over here. You're fighting going to Joel's to fish. You're fighting the bond, and I want to know why."

"You don't need a broken guide," the programmer said softly.

"You're not broken."

"The hell I'm not. I'm a ghost of the man I once was. You know that. I know that. Hell, everyone knows it."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying you need to bond with someone who can do you justice, someone who can ride along with you and watch your back."

"Blair-"

"No, Jim. Don't you know how much it kills me to send you out in the world every day, knowing I should by your side, knowing I should be protecting you? But I can't, and we both know why. We both know fishing is a pipe dream. You act like I can be healed, but I can't, man. I can't. And one day it'll get to be too much for you to deal with and you'll..."

"What? Leave you?" Jim asked, feeling an anger grow slowly within him.

Blair looked him solidly in the eyes. "Yes."

"You don't know the first thing about me," Jim growled, and spun toward the front door, not wanting his anger to wash over the fragile man.

"But I know me, Jim," Blair whispered. "And your leaving will kill me."

Jim stopped before he reached the door and turned back to watch the dejected figure move toward his work benches.

"God damn it, Sandburg!" he shouted, moving back into the warehouse.

Blair stopped and turned, clearly startled. Jim never stopped his forward movement. He quickly closed the distance between them, then herded the younger man backward until he fell back onto his bed.

"Listen to me, and listen to me good. I'm never leaving you. You got that? You're not irreparably broken. While it's true it'll take some time to heal, you _will_ heal." Jim pushed Blair's upper body back onto the bed, and covered the smaller man's body with his own. "You belong to me, just as I belong to you. Like it or not, we're stuck together. You can't just foist me on to someone else."

"Jim--"

"I love you, damn it!"

Blair blinked up at him. "You love me?"

"Yes, goddamn it! And you love me, too."

"Oh, I do, do I?"

"Yes," Jim said in a softer voice, "You do." Without giving Blair a chance to respond, Jim dipped down and covered Blair's lips gently with his own.

The programmer's mouth opened almost immediately and Jim plunged his tongue into the sweetness which had tempted him so long. He kissed Blair until his need for oxygen overrode all other needs, and yet he kissed him a moment longer. "You want me too," he said knowingly, after he gasped for breath.

"Yes," the programmer whispered, his eyes heavy with passion.

Jim took both of Blair's hands in his own and moved the younger man's arms out from his body even as he lifted his hips and plunged down against Blair's.

"Clothes," Blair gasped, thrusting upward.

Jim growled. "Not this time." The sentinel demanded that he mark his mate and Jim complied, biting Blair's chest through his shirts, teasing the hidden nubs with his teeth. Blair mewled with need, bringing his legs up and wrapping them around Jim's waist. Jim moved his hands up Blair's arms and into his hair, thrusting over and over again. He could feel Blair's mind open to him and sank himself as deep into his mate's consciousness as he could, reveling in the love, the passion, and the joy he found there. He could feel Blair pressing at his own mind, though he hesitated, afraid to overwhelm the empath with his emotions. But Blair pushed again and Jim complied, losing himself in the joint soul shattering orgasm that rocked their foundations as Blair joyfully entered his mind.

* * * * * * * * * *

Consciousness returned slowly and Blair was surprised not only to find himself wrapped tightly in Jim’s warm embrace but wrapped within his mental shields as well. He blinked as they glowed brightly, then faded from view.

"What in the hell was that?" he asked softly.

"Bonding," his sentinel chuckled sensuously near his ear.

It was on the tip of Blair's tongue to argue, but he decided not to ruin the moment. He groaned happily and turned within Jim's arms, looking up in the happy blue eyes.

"When we finally get to Joel's place for fishing, I'll let you take me," Jim whispered against his forehead, after pressing a gentle kiss thereon.

"What? You're not serious?"

"Consider it an incentive program," the sentinel chuckled again.

"You are serious."

"As a heart attack."

"Why?"

"Because I love you. Because I know you can find the strength within yourself to go out into the world. Because we _are_ forever."

"Jim, I don't know what to say."

"Tell me you love me."

"I love you," Blair whispered, putting his hand over Jim's heart.

"And promise me we'll excise the ghost you've become and find the man you once were."

Blair swallowed hard, then nodded. Running his hands over Jim's chest, he asked softly, "Jim?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Do you think we can do this again? But this time without clothes?"


End file.
